Remember
by ChaseAwayMyFears
Summary: It was snowing the day Harry found Draco.


It was snowing, the day Harry found Draco. The sky had been a swirling white-grey blanket for weeks, though that was the first day it had snowed. Harry remembers the thick snowflakes landing in his hair and on his robes, freezing him from the inside as they landed on his neck, though he had turned his collar up against them, to no avail.

Harry remembers it was December, beginning to middle of, and he and Draco had been together for a maybe a month and a half - two at most. It hadn't been long, but he remembers the way his stomach would twist and his heart would pound in an amazing way each time he caught sight of hair the color the snow that had fell on The Day. He remembers the butterflies that tried to claw their way out of his stomach and fly up into his throat each time Draco would give him that small, albeit beautiful, smile, the smile he only gave Harry.

He remembers the first time they held hands; it was a Hogsmeade Saturday, and Harry had, after making his excuses to Ron and Hermione, ran to the Entrance hall to meet his blonde. He was wrapped in his Invisibility Cloak, walking alongside Draco; neither of them were naïve enough to expect the entirety of Hogwarts to be accepting of their newfound civility, so Harry stayed hidden. They walked side by side, close enough together that their hands occasionally brushed through the charmed fabric. They walked in silence, thought it wasn't at all awkward. Harry remembers the way Draco looked at him sideways, a small furrow between his brows, but that smile, a little diluted, lighting his face. And he remembers the way Draco quickly looked right, and then left, and then back over his right shoulder before taking Harry's hand in his own. To anyone paying attention, it might've been strange that Draco seemed to be missing a hand and that his arm was at an unnatural angle, but, of course, no one paid any mind to Draco Malfoy.

The butterflies multiplied and mutated, becoming huge-winged, marvellous beasts in that moment, Harry remembers. He felt his mouth stretch into a wide, goofy grin, and he squeezed Draco's hand gently, earning himself a full-watt smile, which made his grin even wider. It was in that moment that he could've kissed Draco, from that day on _his _Draco.

He remembers the first time they kissed, too. He doesn't remember the specifics – what day it was or the time or the weather outside – but he remembers the how and the where and the _feeling_. He remembers walking on his own, and being grabbed and pulled into a disused Potions classroom after his own Potions lesson had ended. He remembers his heart pounding with fright for a few terrible seconds, thought of escaped Death Eaters being back in the school and come to avenge their Dark Lord, but he knew that was ridiculous. The pounding in his heart didn't alleviate when he saw that snowy hair and those stormy eyes, however, but it wasn't induced by fear anymore.

He remembers the look on Draco's face, his smile brighter than Harry had perhaps ever seen it, his usually stormy eyes now molten steel – bright and alive. Draco still had a hold of his right hand, and his free hand cupping Harry's cheek. Harry barely acknowledged the rough, cold stone wall digging into his back; all his attention was on Draco. They both stayed silent, as they often did when they were together, but they didn't need words – everything they had to say was reflected from emerald to grey and back again.

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds longer and then it was as if they were the polar ends on two magnets – mutually they leaned forwards a little, not stopping until their lips brushed. That wasn't a kiss, Harry thought, but then Draco surprised him and kissed him with more force, his eyes closed, a small whimper of…relief and want and desire and fear and _finally_ escaping him. Harry's eyelids fluttered shut as the wing began beating inside of him. He remembers wrapping his arms loosely around Draco's waist, holding him close, even as they pulled back a few seconds later. It hadn't been a massively passionate kiss – close-mouthed and gentle – but it had been fireworks and sparks and everything Harry had been imagining and then some.

Harry remembers many of their firsts; first date, first fight, first round of make-up sex. Second round of make-up sex. Their greatest first, Harry thinks, and he thinks all their firsts were great (even the fight, because it led to sex, and a lot of it), is their first 'I love you'.

Harry said it first. In fact, Harry was the only one who said it, except for the night before The Day. Harry should have known something was wrong when Draco had told him he loved him. It was always implied in his actions and smiles and kisses, but he had never said it – he had never really said anything.

But that night, when Draco had walked Harry back to Gryffindor Tower after hours so as not to be caught by straggling students walking back to their own Common Rooms, or by Filch who took it upon himself to punish any student found out of bed even a minute after curfew, he smiled at Harry warmly, and kissed him softly, as usual, and as Harry turned to leave, still holding Draco's hand, he said it; "I love you, Harry."

The day after, it was snowing. Harry was walking through it, on his way to meet Draco. He found him, but not in their usual spot. He was lying on the ground, a layer of snow covering him like a blanket – it looked warm under there, fluffy and soft. But Harry knew it was cold; Harry knew _Draco _was cold.

Harry couldn't remember if he screamed or not.


End file.
